


Harry Potter and the Kitchens

by Halien



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Feel-good, Food, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Nonbinary Character, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halien/pseuds/Halien
Summary: In which Harry Potter hangs out in the kitchens of his family members. Because where else can you go after trauma?A series of loosely-related drabbles. Hopefully there will be a plot? We'll find out together.*May or may not be out-of-character. Has not been Brit-picked. Harry Potter said Trans Rights.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Hagrid

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Content warning: discussion of PTSD symptoms and parental abuse. You can skip this one and the story should still make sense.  
> I’m not Indian, so please correct me if I’ve made any foolish cultural errors. I can’t remember whose headcannon initially inspired my characterization of Harry as Indian in descent, but I remember reading that his name may have been an Anglicization of Hari, and that his grandpa who created Sleakeezy hair potion (Fleamont Potter) may have been inspired by the Potters’ natural hair texture. I like the idea that the parents of the Potter family founder, Linfred of Stinchcombe, fled India in the 12th century in the aftermath of the battles with Muhammad Ghori and were followers of Basaveswara, whose philosophies rejected discrimination on the basis of socio-economic status (or so wikipedia tells me). It works with both fictitious and historical timelines, and it would make sense, considering Linfred’s work delivering magical healthcare to his muggle neighbors (a value that carried down through generations of Potters). None of this is relevant to the story, but you’ve read it anyway, so thanks.

“Wotcher, Harry!” Hagrid wiped his brow, leaving a streak of flour on his forehead. He gave the loaf a pat, covered it with a cloth, and turned to give Harry his full attention. “You found a recipe you wanted to try, eh?”

Harry nodded. “It was in that family cookbook I found in the vault. ‘Mione kept stealing it to try out the more potion-y bits, but I finally got a longer look and found some mithai recipes. I brought ingredients.” He raised the bag in his hand. “Figured you probably wouldn’t have khoya.”

“Ya figured right,” Hagrid chuckled. “Yer dad always used to get the best treats in his care packages from ol’ ‘Mont and Euphy. Lots of things I’d never seen before—he’d share em every now and then, but I never learned to make em. Always wanted to.” He smiled. “So what do we do first?”

As the smell of toasted coconut wafted through the hut, Harry was content to listen. Hagrid regaled him with tales of the students he was mentoring in Advanced Magizoology and the creatures they were interacting with, which at this point in the semester were billywigs. He was pleased to have found a good balance between creatures that were popularly misunderstood, but also not potentially lethal. Billywigs were rated XXX by the Ministry, but the worst they could do was cause you to levitate, which several students had done just for the fun of it. For a moment, Harry was reminded of poor Katie Bell, wrenched into the air by that cursed opal necklace in their sixth year. He shook himself and decided to be happy that students were hovering for nicer reasons.

“Yer awful quiet, Harry,” Hagrid said, trying to soften the phrase with a grin. It didn’t mask the concern in his eyes. He hadn’t seen Harry since the last funeral.

Harry smiled back, trying equally hard and failing equally miserably to assure Hagrid that nothing was wrong. “It’s just been a while, and. Well. Things weren’t exactly normal the last time we saw each other. And now here we are, baking-- we should probably add the condensed milk, by the way, or that’s gonna burn--” Hagrid scrambled for a can opener, and, finding none, opened the can with a prod of his umbrella. “--and it’s just...weird. Good weird!” Harry rushed to say, trying not to offend Hagrid, “But weird. To just be normal with people.”

Hagrid smiled for real this time. “I know,” he said. He sat down in the hand-hewn chair beside Harry, leaving the spoon stirring itself on the stove. With him sitting on it, it almost looked normal-sized. Harry’s feet were swinging. “You forget, I’ve been through this before,” Hagrid said. He squeezed Harry’s shoulder with one big hand. “Of course it’s weird. We saw people die! Well, and you went through that yourself…” he hesitated. “Anyway, it’d be strange if it _w_ _eren’_ _t_ strange, going back to normal after all that. Er, well, not really ‘back to,’ in your case. If you don’t mind me saying so, life was never so normal for you, was it?”

Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Yeah.  Yeah, I guess that’s the issue. I don’t know how to  _do_ ‘normal.’ I’m still expecting Death Eaters to pop out from behind ever corner. And now I’m supposed to be Teddy’s godfather, but I can’t seem to stop being a jumpy, irritated, irrational bastard for long enough to figure out how the hell parenthood works when I never had any parents to begin with!” He flinched at his own loudness  and forced his voice down into a quieter monotone . “See, like that. Here I am, coming to the one person who was ever really a father figure to me, and all I’ve done is yell at you.”  His wry grin didn’t meet his eyes, and his fingers dug into the soft wood of his chair.

Hagrid took in a sharp breath. Then the tears welled up in his eyes. Harry thought he’d well and truly fucked up, but then Hagrid pulled him into an enormous, awkwardly-situated hug. “Oh, Harry! Ye’ve been through so much. An’ I always did think of ye like my own kid.” He sniffed, and released a mildly disheveled,  much-relieved Harry. “You don’t know how much I begged Dumbledore to let ye stay over summers. Seein’ you go back to those Mu--” he caught himself, “monsters, every year, when ye could’ve been here with me.  Me an’ Arabella – Mrs. Figg to you, I think – we always thought he was wrong to do that to ye.” He  paused abruptly, checking Harry’s response. “But we don’t have to talk about that.”

“No, I kind of want to,” Harry said.  “We should probably take the milk off the heat though.” Hagrid’s chair squeaked as he sprung up to check the khoya-milk mixture. Harry realized that Hagrid had been doing all the work so far, and rose to scoop a little ghee into the other pan on the stove. “It’s something I would’ve talked about a lot sooner, if there hadn’t also been a mass-murdering cult leader out for my guts as a twelve year-old.” Hagrid didn’t laugh. Oops. Harry took a breath. “Anyway. It’s just...I think that partially I survived all the Voldemort shit because  that was already my life. I’d never had a chance to relax. I mean honestly, even  _with_ the Voldemort shit, even when I was face to face with him as an eleven year-old and sorta killed him with my bare hands, Hogwarts was always less scary than home.”   
“You….what?” Hagrid had dropped the spoon. 

“Uh. I mean you knew Quirrel died and all….nevermind.” He needed to back the hell out of this topic immediately, judging by the look on Hagrid’s face. “Story for another time. Point is, even then, I would’ve taken that over living with the Dursleys any day. With Tom, it was always sort of guaranteed to be a pretty short interaction, if you catch my drift. ‘Neither can live’ and all that. I didn’t have to  _live_ with him.” He poured the almonds into the pan to avoid Hagrid’s face. “And I know the Dursleys were probably never going to kill me. On purpose, any way. But when you’re that little, Teddy’s age--” his voice cracked, “– and you grow up with it...I don’t know. It’s just as scary. It’s almost worse.”

There was silence, except for the sound of nuts simmering in the pan. Harry didn’t dare look at Hagrid. If he saw the man crying, he wouldn’t be able to keep talking, and he’d promised himself he’d talk today. He reminded himself that Hagrid wanted to listen.

“I don’t know how to let go of that.  And I don’t want to bring it into Teddy’s life.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Sometimes...sometimes I yell, Hagrid. And I swear, I sound like Vernon.” 

There was a crack. Harry jumped. The wooden spoon that Hagrid had been clenching to his chest like a teddy bear had snapped. He put the pieces down gingerly, his bearded face growing red. 

“Ah-- there, Harry, it’s okay, just a spoon. I’ll have it repaired in no time. Jes’ take a deep breath for me, okay?” Harry did, eyes closed. He forced his hand to let go of his wand, which it had immediately found in his pocket, and wrapped his arms around his chest. He peeked at Hagrid, who was staring at him with so much concern it made his heart ache. He slid down to the floor against the cabinets and pulled his legs up to his chest.

“Sorry. Not your fault.”

“I know,” Hagrid said. His tone was light, but he studied the young man in front of him  with concern as he carefully lowered his bigger, older bones to the floor. “Oof,” he said, and reached his hand behind him. A couple cushions flew off the settee. “ Use one of these, will ye? Then I won’t feel so old for needing one.” Harry gave a small smile and took the proffered cushion, hugging it to his chest. “O-kay, not what I meant, but I’ll take it,” Hagrid said with a smile, settling in. He eyed Harry and sighed. 

“I never told you ‘bout when I got Fang, did I?” Harry shook his head. He was surprised Hagrid could talk about the dearly departed dog, who had died of old age not too long ago. “Well, it’s not just magical creatures what’s misunderstood.  When I got Fang, he was jus’ a  sweet little  pup, but he’d snarl at any moving thing he saw. ‘Course, as soon as ya got close to him, he’d whine and tuck his tail in. But there’d be times, might seem random to a layman, when he’d  just lose it on whoever was caring for ‘im. He bit me a couple times.” He touched the small scar on the outside of one hand. Harry looked up in shock. Fang had been so gentle. “But that wasn’t his fault,” Hagrid continued. “His first person did ‘im  real  wrong.” He  heaved a sigh . “I still don’t know how a person gets there, to hittin’ animals. That’s one I’ll never understand. But I guess that fella didn’t have what Fang had-- someone to care for him, an’ someone to care for. Fang was there for me it a way no human nor giant could be, what didn’t know how it was in the first war.  We sorta got through it together, me an’ him.” He leaned toward Harry. “It doesn’t make you a monster just ‘cause you’re quick to bite or balk, and you can change that, slowly. An’ you’re already doing it a little, ‘cause you came here today, and I know that was hard for you.”

Harry gave him a weak smile. “I did want to see you though.”

“I know ya did,” Hagrid smiled back. “And I’m glad ya came.” He sniffed the air. “Now are those cashews burnin’?”

They did end up with a little bit of charcoal in their nariyal laddu, but it was worth it. Hagrid said he might start making them on the regular, and threatened to send some to Harry every week if he didn’t start owling more often.


	2. Teddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I read the word "wixen" in tambuli's "she's just a girl (but she's on fire)." Not sure where it comes from but I like it (and that fic) a lot!  
> I was raised an only child and know NOTHING of stages of childhood development. Should Teddy be talking by this stage? Dancing? Doing algebra? No idea. So if he’s early or late… well, lots of kids are. Time’s not real.

“Hiya, Andy.” Harry grinned sheepishly. He was half an hour later than the time they’d set for him to come babysit, and it wasn’t as though he could blame it on the traffic.

“Got busy staring at a wall?” Andromeda smirked at him as she bounced Teddy on her hip. Harry had gotten used to the sight of that smirk, but it was still strange to see it on someone he actually liked. The twinkle in her eyes reminded him of Sirius, but the smirk was so like the Malfoys.

“Erm...yeah, actually.” He turned to Teddy. “Time’s not real, right Bear?” Teddy nodded solemnly and sucked three of his fingers. His skin shifted to a deeper shade, matching Harry’s, as it often did when he saw his godfather. “See? He agrees with me.”

“Unfortunately, Carlotta does not. Luckily for you she’s rather forgiving.” Andromeda hefted Teddy into Harry’s arms. “Okay, dinner by six and bed by eight, the usual.” She gave Harry a side-hug and kissed Teddy’s forehead. “I should be back by ten. And thanks, I owe you treacle.”

“ I won’t say no,” Harry smiled. Andromeda disappeared with a sharp crack. “Well, Bear, what mischief  should we get up to tonight?”

“Colors!” Teddy giggled. This was one of the more complex amusements Harry could muster.

“You got it, boss,” Harry agreed, and pushed open the door. “Let’s start with your food, yeah?”

“ Kay. I wanna see purple peas!” Anybody who didn’t know Teddy well would have had trouble understanding him, but Harry  s poke fluent Toddler  at this point \-- this was a piece of cake now that he was up to full sentences.

He plopped Teddy in his high chair. Andy’s kitchen was  easy to work in, and he took a moment to enjoy the calming gray walls and say hello to the pictures of Tonks, Remus, and Ted  Sr.  that  sat in a small alcove with a lit candle. He filled a pot with water and tried something he’d been practicing lately-- he hovered his hand over the water and felt the pressure in the air below his hand shift. Bubbles began to rise to the surface. He pulled his hand back when the steam got too hot and rummaged in the freezer for some peas.  _“Keeping your mind and body connected to your magic is important,”_ his therapist had said.  _“Dissociation is a normal effect of CPTSD, but it can be especially dangerous for wixen.”_ Harry had been inclined to agree.  When his magic had almost completely left him in the immediate wake of the Battle, he’d been relieved. It was when it came back in full force that it had become a safety hazard.

“Pur-ple! Pur-ple! Pur-ple!” Teddy chanted. His left hand, which was banging a plastic spoon against his highchair for emphasis, was already turning lavender.

“Okay! Give me a sec. Peas have to boil,” Harry said, smiling at  him. “In the meantime, will you tell me what you did today?” Teddy was easy to distract, but Harry also really did enjoy hearing about the kid’s hijinks.

“ Gamma made pancakes and  Papa Lyall came over and he brought a licorice pipe for me and we smoked!” he laughed. “We smoked and  G amma thought it was terrible.” Harry raised an eyebrow. He bet she did. Andy was not fond of Lyall’s habit. “And then he told me stories about dad.” Teddy’s smile was bright-eyed, and Harry fought to contain the mix of emotions bubbling up in his chest. “Peas!” 

Teddy was right; the peas were nearly over-boiling. Harry turned to take them off the stove, and used the opportunity to brush aside a couple tears while his back was to Teddy. “Okay, red, was it?” He turned back with a grin, using a strainer spoon to transfer the peas into a bowl.

“No! Purple!” Teddy’s  hair went violet. “I wanna try purple.”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, pulling up a chair so he was the same height as his godson. “ Y ou first.” He pointed his wand at the peas, which turned a pale, reddish-purple. Teddy took a fistful of peas and stared hard. His hair began to turn first, and the rest of his body followed suit, until he matched the color exactly. He popped the peas in his mouth. For the hundredth time, Harry hoped that changing the color wasn’t changing anything important in the chemical makeup.  It was illusion magic, so that meant it wasn’t actually structural...right?

“Your turn!” Teddy stuck out his tiny hands, which changed to a dark, almost-black purple. Harry screwed up his face in concentration—only partially theatrical-- and poked the peas with his wand again. They turned a neon violet, which made Teddy laugh, but quickly deepened to the right shade.  Teddy popped another handful into his mouth. 

The bowl of peas was almost gone by the time Teddy lost interest—a rousing success, in Harry’s opinion. “So what else happened today?” he asked, attempting another distraction while he popped open the _Casper_ VHS that he hoped would keep Teddy busy while he made them a real dinner. 

“Gamma got a visitor! They had snow-hair,” said the little boy enthusiastically. When Harry turned back to him, Teddy’s hair had gone a particular shade of platinum that he was desperately hoping wasn’t as spot-on an imitation as usual.

Stomach in knots, he asked, “What was their name?”

“Dray!” Teddy beamed. “Rhymes with gray!” He pointed to the walls.

“Sure does,” Harry agreed. His stomach felt sour.  Maybe Andy knew someone who just happened to have the same shade of hair and a similar name? He pretended that wasn’t far less likely than the other option-- that her nephew had recently breathed the air in one of Harry’s only safe havens. He closed his eyes tight and forced himself to take a deep breath,  wary of picking up Teddy when his magic was abuzz. Teddy watched him silently as he breathed in for four counts and out for six. It was a pretty normal sight for the child by now. 

Harry scooped him up and squeezed him tight before setting him on the soft white carpet in Andy’s living room. “They said you were friends in school! Tell me about school,” Teddy said, running his hands through the short carpet. Harry felt a tense laugh leave his chest.

“I’ll tell you all about Hogwarts in just a minute,” he promised. “Let me get some grilled cheeses going first.” He pressed play on the VHS player. “Sound good?”

“Okay,” Teddy said contentedly, picking up  his magically animated stuffed elephant . “ Ready for the movie, Bernard?” Bernard’s trunk booped his nose, and he giggled.

Thanking the stars that Teddy was such a  sweet kid, Harry turned back to the kitchen. He spent a couple moments staring at the swirling colors on an abstract painting that Tonks had made before pulling out the bread.  _Friends at school?_ He needed Hermione for this one.


	3. Hermione

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione is the hottest dyke in the land. (I have the authority, as a dyke, to say this with certainty).

“Harry.” Hermione looked as serious as she had when they were on the run, but the dark circles under her eyes weren’t so cutting. If the well-used punching bag in the corner was anything to go by, she’d shaken out of her shell shock. “I’m glad you’re here. Come in.” She arced her wand over the door, momentarily dropping her wards. “Wait there a moment,” she added as he wiped his feet on the mat, re-upping her wards and sending a quick spell his way to check for enchantments. He’d known better than to use any spells – even a simple warming charm – on himself before coming. It wasn’t that Hermione was paranoid, it was just habit. Or so she claimed.

“I’ve been in touch with some others about the Statute. We’re slowly forming a plan.” She put the kettle on and pulled out a chair in one smooth motion. Harry set the bread and hummus he’d brought on Hermione’s minimalist metal table, which looked like it would be more at home in an operating bay than a kitchen. He grabbed a cutting board and sliced the naan in thirds while Hermione talked.

“Carlotta’s been... inspiring. She’s been pushing for a full repeal for decades, so she’s got a lot of experience to offer, but honestly, she’s better at giving speeches than she is at strategy. Even _I’m_ not crazy enough to just force a repeal and see what happens. I mean Muggles have nuclear weapons, for God’s sake! We’re already in a tense situation between the US and Russia, and the Good Friday Agreement just needs one little push to fall to pieces. Imagine dropping magic into that mix!” She ejected a humorless laugh. “So Luna’s been talking about a more peaceful route. At first I thought she was, you know, just being Luna...but Dean and Seamus started making plans...oh, Harry, they’re so much cleverer than I gave them credit for. But they’re still not very clever.” She moved to push her hair out of her eyes, despite having cut it to a short afro recently. Harry wondered if she knew she was still doing that.

“They’ve got some points. Neville and Hannah are on board. It’s just… there are kids out there dying every day because they don’t have access to magical healing. People unable to defend themselves because they don’t have a good protection charm. Really, the right Vanishing charm and some good intel could make this whole disarmament problem disappear.” She rested her head in her hands. “Of course, who’s going to allow you to just Vanish their nuclear option? So then we’re back in the broom closet where we started.” She groaned. “It’s a strategic _conundrum_. How far can we go? How far before we have the Ministry on our tail, and how far before we have the Muggles at our throats?”

“Eat, ‘Mione.” He pushed a plate of naan and the dish of hummus towards her. She nodded her thanks.

“And anyway, there’s the problem of organization. The D.A. was only ever 60 people at maximum, and we still had the problem of infiltration. To really make change on an international scale…” Harry tried to listen as Hermione continued to strategize, but his thoughts strayed. There he was, staring at Tom in the cool forest air, thinking it was over at last. And again, standing on the bridge listening to the pieces of the Elder Wand clatter against the ravine. And again, feet crunching on gravel as he walked home after the last funeral. And again, the roar of the press as he left the Ministry after the last testimony. And now again it felt like they’d never left the tent in the woods. Once again they were plotting how to save the world-- or Hermione was. He supposed that was why she’d always been such a reliable friend. She seemed to thrive off this stuff; it just made Harry’s head hurt. His back ached. He sat down.

“You’re not listening, are you.” Her frustration turned to concern as she watched his face. “Are you alright?”

He squinted at her through the pain of a tension headache coming on. He tried not to rub at his forehead-- he knew what that would look like. “Yeah, fine.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m just tired, is all.”

“I won’t use the word for what that is,” she said primly. “But it starts with a b. And ends with ‘ullshit.’”

“Well thank Merlin you didn’t say it. My poor sensibilities,” he deadpanned. “I really am tired. I would be worried about you if you weren’t trying to save the world, ‘Mione. But we already did it once. Can’t I just let it be someone else’s turn?”

For a moment, indignation flashed across her face. Then she pressed her full lips together and took a deep breath. She narrowed her eyes at him. Harry grimaced.

“I see why you feel that way,” she said slowly. “You never wanted to be a saviour, I know.” She paused. “But can’t you see, this is exactly my point. It shouldn’t be on the shoulders of _children_ to do these things. If we don’t want another Riddle, we need to mobilize our whole society against his kind of thinking. This is about taking some responsibility _off_ your shoulders.” She smiled disarmingly. “And anyway, what did you come here for, if not to listen to my rousing speeches?”

Harry winced. “I know how this is going to sound,” he said, holding his hands up pre-emptively, “but Malfoy’s up to something.”

“Ah. That’s a name I never wanted to hear again.” Hermione scanned his face. She pushed the hummus back in his direction. “Eat.” She stood and scooped the kettle from the stove before it could whistle, filling two sterile white mugs with earl grey. She sat one in front of Harry as he obediently nibbled his naan, unsure whether to be grateful for the excuse not to talk or nervous about whatever interrogation she was about to give him.

She pulled a container of Guyanese channa cookup from the fridge, conjured a couple white ceramic bowls, and began dishing it out. “So...what’s he done this time?”

“He’s been to Andy’s house. Teddy told me. He said we were ‘friends in school.’ _Friends in school,_ Hermione! And he was _at her house!_ ” Suddenly he didn’t feel so tired.

“Hm. Well you’re right, that is strange,” she considered, placing a bowl in front of him and conjuring a spoon. “ _How_ strange is the question. What’s his motivation? Is the dodgy wanker just out to gain some respect back in high society by associating with the veterans? Or has he caught wind of our activities and is trying to infiltrate our ranks already?”

“Exactly! And-”

“-- _Or,_ is he, perhaps, just trying to salvage his relationship with what little family he has left?” Hermione folded her arms. “Honestly, Harry. He’s just a poncy bigot who couldn’t even kill anybody. And despite all my efforts, not a damn thing is happening with the DA right now. There’s nothing for him to infiltrate.”

“He’s a pretty good Legilimens, actually,” Harry said indignantly. “And he nearly tried an Unforgivable on me once.”

“Whatever skill Malfoy may or may not possess,” Hermione began (Harry was reminded of exactly how bitter she had been the few times Malfoy had beaten her on a potions test) “I really don’t think he’s anything you need to worry about. You said you’re stressed by this stuff, right? So don’t let him get to you.”

Harry stuffed cookup into his face, figuring he wasn't going to convince her today. Coconut milk, garlic, thyme, and tender dark meat were an excellent distraction.

“Except, that’s never exactly worked for you, has it,” she muttered. Harry flushed. It was definitely from the scotch bonnet. “Hm.” She cocked her head, and he squirmed. “Maybe you just need to confront him. Get it out of your system. Then you can focus on more important things, like helping me dismantle the Statute of Secrecy. Go have a row with Malfoy, find out once and for all that he’s not worth your time, and report back. That’s an order.” She smirked.

“Since when did you outrank me?” he grinned, unable to help himself when Hermione seemed back to her bossy self...and secretly, he was looking forward to finding out what was up with Malfoy. It felt like a comfortable mystery. No dark arts (hopefully), no evil masterminds (hopefully); just one dodgy prick with more baggage than the Hogwarts Express.

***


	4. Hermione and Andromeda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short conversation between our dear Hermione and Andromeda.

Hermione rang the doorbell and adjusted her collar as she waited for an answer.

“Hermione? Hello! What are you doing here?” Andromeda smiled, but her brow furrowed in confusion. She opened the door wide. “Come in!”

“Thank you.” Hermione smiled back reassuringly and stepped inside. “Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry. Well, nothing major anyway. I just...needed someone to talk to.”

“Alright, dear, why don’t you step into the kitchen. I’m making dinner.”

“Thank you.” Thank god Andromeda could roll with it. Hermione felt awkward, but it turned out her parents quite liked Australia, and this wasn’t really something they would understand anyway.

“Hang on, let me just make sure Teddy doesn’t need anything before we start talking. He’s upstairs in his room.” Hermione fidgeted with her keyring and looked around. Andromeda’s walnut cupboards were organized enough to be functional with a toddler in the house, but said toddler meant there were always crumbs on the floor and carrot puree where it shouldn’t be. Teddy’s drawings added color to the calming grey walls, in addition to a couple swirling abstract designs that might have been Tonks’ work. A little table in the corner held a photo of her and Lupin and one of Ted and Andromeda, as well as fresh flowers and a candle. Hermione gave a little wave, and the photos waved back. Her throat felt tight. A fluffy white cat appeared in the doorway, breaking her concentration, and headed right towards her. It mewed and she gave it a grateful pet.

“Alright, what do you want to talk about?” Andromeda walked briskly into the room and picked up where she had apparently left off chopping parsnips.

“I’m worried about Harry.” The chopping paused. “Please don’t tell him I’m saying this.”

“Of course, dear.” The chopping resumed.

“Can I help?” she blurted.

“Certainly. There’s carrots in the fridge, be a dear and cut them? The other cutting board’s over there.”

Hermione searched around for a blade for a moment, before Andromeda saved her with a quick _Accio._ The grey-haired woman caught the knife by the handle as it whizzed towards her. It didn’t do much for Hermione’s nerves. She started chopping.

“When we were little, he used to get on these obsessive kicks whenever he didn’t want to face something. He’d spend hours thinking about something or someone—well, to be honest, it was only ever one someone. He went so far as stalking, our sixth year. And mind you, I’m not one to talk when it comes to spending every waking minute thinking about a topic, but I usually do it for _fun._ For Harry, it’s a control issue, I think. And I thought that would go away when we, well. When we killed Tom Riddle. Or something.” Hermione focused on getting even slices . “But he’s doing it again, and I don’t know what to do. Clearly he’s dealing with something, but you can’t just outright _ask_ Harry what’s got him upset. So I sort of told him…I told him to just have it out with this person. And I don’t know if that was the right thing to do. It didn’t exactly end well the last time they had an altercation.”

“May I ask who this person is?” Andromeda switched from parsnips to an onion.

Hermione winced. “I thought you might. It’s someone I think you know. Draco Malfoy.”

Andromeda’s comforting voice took on a pained quality. “Ah.” She set down her knife gently. “You know Draco is my nephew, I suppose.”

“Yes ma'am.” Hermione stared at the vegetables.

“I’m not particularly in the mood to have a close friend kill one of my relatives yet again,” Andromeda said lightly. “Do you suppose that’s a possibility?”

"No!” Hermione rushed, wrenching her gaze to Andromeda, who was thankfully smiling. “Harry would never kill anybody. He couldn’t even kill Riddle. Please don’t misunderstand, I don’t mean to say Harry’s dangerous--” her breath stuck in her throat. “Well.” She cast around for something to ease the tension. Andromeda took pity on her and handed her a head of garlic. She began peeling and took a breath.

“To be perfectly honest with you, Andromeda, I don’t really care if he hurts your nephew. I realize that’s not very magnanimous of me, but there are some things that aren’t so easily forgiven.” She checked Andromeda’s face for signs the conversation would end there.

The old woman made short work of the onion, Vanishing the fumes before she could start to tear up. “I understand. You forget, Cissa and Bella were my family.”

“’Were.’ But Draco still is?”

Andromeda took a moment to respond, focusing on the meat she was slicing. Steam rose from the pot between them. “I miss my sister,” she finally said, quietly. “I didn’t for a long time. But when I saw her at the trial, how miserable she was with Lucius, and how miserable my nephew was… I just didn’t see the point in shutting them out any more. We’ve all lost so much.” Hermione wasn’t sure what to say, so she didn’t say anything. She pretended to be busy measuring salt. “I finished grieving Bella years before she died,” Andromeda continued, sliding the meat into the pot. “It was something of a relief when she finally passed. I’m... grateful to Molly for that. Nobody but Draco could know what that felt like. His life was as threatened by Bella as mine.” Hermione tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, not wanting to break the moment. “I despised Cissa for a long time for going along with that madness. I still do. But I’m too tired to be angry at a little boy. Maybe that’s just grief, I don’t know.” She stirred the stew for a moment. "He reminds me so much of her.” She sniffed and tucked a strand of gray hair behind her ear. “I’m not crying, it’s just the damn onion,” she added with a small laugh. The silence was made less awkward by the bubbling pot.

Hermione didn’t know what to say. So instead she investigated. “How was Draco’s life threatened by Bellatrix? They were on the same side.”

Andromeda stared at her with an inscrutable expression. Finally, she said, “Not my story to tell. So instead, how about you tell me why you’ve come to me for advice if not to warn me of my nephew’s imminent demise at the hands of my second-best babysitter?”

“Unfortunately, the person I would usually talk with about Harry isn’t deigning to suffer my presence at the moment.” Her voice took on a bitter edge. “You would think that nearly a decade of friendship would be more important than his misplaced romantic urges, but apparently not.”

Andromeda sighed. “Oh, dear.” She patted Hermione’s shoulder gently. “Boys can be wretched.” Hermione ejected a somewhat hysterical laugh, “Give him time. And if he doesn’t come around and apologize like a man, then good riddance. I know that’s easier said than done, but I promise you’ll find friends without ulterior motives.” She turned the stovetop down, set a lid on the pot, and started the kettle going. “Come sit down.”

Hermione pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “Thanks.” She squirmed a bit. This was not where she’d wanted this conversation to go. “Anyway,” she said, wanting to move briskly away from the subject of her love life, “I’m worried about Harry because a) every time he’s obsessed over Malfoy he’s been avoiding greater stressors, and b) he’s had...troubling responses to stress in the past. I thought perhaps you might know how to avoid this becoming a powder keg.”

Andromeda chuckled. “I think we can mediate their interaction a bit. I don’t think you were wrong to suggest he deal with the unresolved tension, but perhaps a dinner rather than a barfight?”

Hermione let out a tense laugh. “That would probably help.”

“Okay then,” Andromeda said easily, pulling the kettle off the stove. “Would you like some tea?”

They spent the next few minutes formulating how to get the boys to sit down at a table together, and then Hermione made an excuse about Crookshanks, to the disdain of the white cat curled in her lap.

As she was putting on her coat, Andromeda said, “you know, you don’t always have to be the one solving his problems, Hermione. You could even talk to him about your own struggles. He’ll be your friend whether you can fix everything or not.”

“You-- I-- I’m not the one struggling. I’m fine,” she said indignantly. “But-- thank you.”

Andromeda shook her head as she closed the door. She walked upstairs, where a lanky blond was sitting cross-legged with Teddy in their lap.

“You, my dear, are going to have to find a way to apologize to Hermione Granger.”


End file.
